


Kink #4

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, Clint might have a thing for Phil in jeans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kink #4

Coulson in jeans is probably the sexiest thing Clint has ever seen. It’s not that Clint ever believed that Coulson only wore suits, but the first time he’d seen Coulson in jeans—dark blue wash, slim cut, worn with a black leather belt and a white button down with the sleeves rolled up and paired with black loafers—it was their first date, and Coulson had looked so comfortable, so confident, leaning back in his chair and resting his left ankle on his right knee, that Clint’s built a Pavlovian response to Phil in jeans. Phil in jeans? Clint’s mind goes to the dirty place. The _very_  dirty place. The very  _delightfully_  dirty place.

Lucky for him, Phil only wears jeans when they’re at home or running errands or out to dinner together. Even on ops, he defaults to khakis, the combination of the khakis and button-down feeding into his general aura of placid blandness so no one ever remembers him. 

But today’s been a  _day_. Running, screaming, the full set of Avengers out in force to take down the giant, slimy baddie. When Clint shimmies down the drainpipe at the end of the op, he finds Phil coated from head to toe in the slime of the baddie, looking no worse for wear save a pinched look around his eyes as he peels his suit jacket from his body.

“Think it’s a goner,” Clint says.

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. He tosses the suit jacket into a waiting biohazard bag, peels off his shirt after it. His undershirt is damp but not slimy, and he leaves it on as he toes off his shoes and peels off his socks.

“Gonna go full monty for me, Sir?” Clint asks. “I bet the tabloids would love that.”

“Got a junior bringing me a spare set of clothes from the office,” Phil says. “I’m just trying to get as much of this goo off me as I can.” He makes no move to remove his slacks.

“Goo,” Clint says with a chuckle. “You’ve never complained about goo—” he cuts off when Phil gives him a silencing look.

“Good look for you, Coulson,” Stark says as he lands beside them. The rest of the Avengers are closing in as well. “The slime I mean,” Stark says. “Really showcases your…sliminess.”

“Needs work,” Phil replies.

Bruce is wrapped in a blanket by a passing agent. He holds up a corner to Phil. “Do you need one?”

“I’m fine,” Phil answers. “Report.”

Steve starts to report, breaking down the attack step-by-step. Natasha and Thor fill in the blanks as they go as Bruce and Tony just nod along. Clint never reports with the rest of them. It’s different for him up high, and it just confuses everyone.

Halfway through the report, a junior agent runs up to Coulson with a pile of clothes under one arm. “Sir,” he says. “You were out of suits, but I found a change of clothes in your bottom drawer.”

“You couldn’t find his sleep suit?” Stark asks. Clint is tempted to kick him, but he’s still armored. Steve flicks him on the back of the helmet, and Clint cracks up at Stark’s offended look as Phil steps into the back of an SUV to change.

He steps back out less than a minute later wearing a black button down shirt and jeans with a spare pair of dress shoes. He’s still zipping up as he kicks the door closed behind him, and Clint’s brain shuts the hell down because he knows those jeans—dark blue wash, slightly tattered at the cuffs, worn spot on the left knee—he bought those jeans for Phil a couple of years ago, got him to wear them in the office exactly once so that Clint could blow him in jeans (kink #1) while in Phil’s office (kink #2). Phil, in turn, had bent him over the desk and fucked him until he’d screamed (kink #3). Clint hasn’t seen those particular jeans in awhile, had assumed they’d gotten too tattered for Phil’s liking and pitched one day without sentiment.

“Keep going,” Phil says to Steve, and Steve picks up his report. Once he’s finished, Phil looks at each of them in turn. “Anything to add?” he asks.

“Since when do you own jeans?” Stark asks.

“I don’t actually sleep in suits, Stark,” Phil replies. “I also own t-shirts.”

“You don’t own that shirt,” Stark says. “That shirt isn’t tailored to you, and all your button-downs are tailored to you. It’s not yours.”

Phil glances down at the black button down. It is slightly bigger than his other shirts. He has the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, and it’s as he’s adjusting them and telling Stark he really should stop obsessing that Clint realizes it’s not  _just_  his shirt (he’d figured that out as soon as he’d seen it), but that it’s the shirt he was wearing the night he and Phil fucked in Phil’s office.

“Clint, are you okay?” Bruce asks. “You made a noise. Are you in pain?”

Only in his dick, which is now pressing hard against his cup because Phil’s looking at him like he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on in Clint’s head, but his face is exactly too bland for Clint to believe that.

“Barton,” Phil says, “ride back with me. I’ll get your debrief on the way back to base.”

“Yes, Sir,” Clint says. 

“I’ll be stopping off for a change of clothes,” Phil adds.

“No problem, Sir,” Clint replies and is proud his voice stays even because ‘stopping off for a change of clothes’ means ‘quickie.’ Maybe not to Phil, but Clint will change his mind when he drops to his knees just inside their apartment door and buries his face against Phil’s crotch in those jeans.

“The rest of you back to base for a full debrief,” Phil orders.

They break off, Clint and Phil going one way, the rest of the team going the other. Natasha slants Clint a smirking, knowing look as Thor bellows congratulations to the field agents for their hard work and Steve and Stark start debating where to get food after the debrief while Bruce listens in and pulls his blanket a little higher on his shoulders.

“Why was that shirt in your office?” Clint asks in an undertone as he and Phil make their way to an SUV.

“I was planning to request an encore,” Phil says. The way his mouth curves is filthy. Clint curls his hands around his quiver strap to keep himself in line. “But I guess we’ll just have to take care of that at home.”

“Yes. Absolutely yes. I’m going to unbutton your jeans with my teeth.”

Phil falters for half a step, rocking back on his heels like he’s taken a physical blow. “Clint,” it’s a warning, low and hot.

“You’re the one in my shirt,” Clint argues as they split up to step into the SUV. When they’re both settled, he reaches across the console and curls his fingers tight around Phil’s thigh for a moment, letting the texture of the denim sink in. “Drive fast,” he says.

Phil doesn’t argue.

 


End file.
